Tuesday, April 14, 2009

To Alice Wickenheiser


When I first started kissing
I didn't know what
a human being is.

While we were in the movie
I caressed your hand.
You were not dear to me
I just rose to your rank.

I remember the groping with chagrin
even now; up your skirt in the car
as I kissed you. It was curiousity
and the beginning of a perverse life.

You wore wool tights,
said you enjoyed holding my hand
but not kissing me.
You were kind.

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